


break me down, build me up: believer.

by softswans



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Light Angst, Miscommunication, post olys spec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 10:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17098790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softswans/pseuds/softswans
Summary: They fall into a relationship during the comeback, and the unspoken ease that had followed the natural progression ofthemis so welcome that Tessa doesn’t think it’s a subject that needs addressing. Of course, they’re together.Scott isn't really following.OR;Tessa assumes they're both of the mutual, unmentioned agreement that they're dating. Scott assumes they're both super good best friends who sometimes act a little bit more like a couple than any two friends should.





	break me down, build me up: believer.

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this came from a 40 minute session of me spitballing in saleena's (kingsbesideher) dms at what was the start of finals week for me. so, naturally, i left it untouched in a google doc while i had 7 academia-related breakdowns and came back to it a couple days ago; this is the finished product.
> 
> (there's no mention of [redacted] in this, nor will there be in anything i post, i'm not out here to write fiction about a woman i know nothing about (not that i know a single thing about tessa and scott and their feelings. but anyways)
> 
> all mistakes are most definitely mine, and a HUGE thank you to aimée, saleena, rebecca & carol for helping me with bits of this <33
> 
> enjoy! x
> 
> here is a playlist if you'd like some tunes to accompany your reading, bc i'm nice like that: https://open.spotify.com/user/clintnat/playlist/5039Mjteqcqu2ZOTBytbxn?si=_DF-UbFUTJGof984YqFqLA

They fall into a relationship during the comeback, and the unspoken ease that had followed the natural progression of _them_ is so welcome that Tessa doesn’t think it’s a subject that needs addressing. Of course, they’re together. They drive home from the rink everyday, and he cooks her dinner (b2ten approved meal plans from a set recipe, but dinner nonetheless), and they fall into the same bed together every night to sleep, and they wake up together too. They’re each other’s plus ones to every event they attend; he kisses her forehead and rubs her calves when she’s frustrated. She loves him, it’s so obvious. Why would she have any cause to think differently? Of course they were _together_.

Scott, he just thanks his lucky stars every night she chooses to spend beside him in his bed, every time she takes his hand and leads him sleepily to hers with a dozy, happy smile tugging at her lips. He wonders every time she watches him cook dinner while she’s sat perched on the counter how he got so lucky that she allows him this much. He takes as much as she’ll allow him when they wake up together every morning and she lets him make her body sing in the break of day. They attend events together, yes, but it’s just easier that they’re each other’s dates – it saves precious time that they could spend maximizing their comeback effort. Or so he thinks.

So, when they come to the end of their media run after the PyeongChang games and she still climbs into his bed every night, and he still kisses his way up her thighs every morning, he wonders what on earth he’s going to do now that they won’t be together in the competing aspect anymore.

Now that he won’t have her, not really.

And she’s thinking about all the time they’ve got left in their lives to spend by each other’s side, loving each other.

And that’s the core of it, really.

So when he gently broaches the idea that maybe they shouldn’t keep doing this, not anymore, she’s completely taken aback. It feels a little like the proverbial rug has been swiftly torn out from under her feet, just as she’d found her footing. Her heart breaks inside her chest, shatters into a thousand pieces, piercing her lungs and scratching at her throat. They cut at her skin, sharp little pricks against her freckles that mark her skin with unintended malice.

And Tessa just nods. Because she’s never been able to deny him anything, not really. Especially not when he asks her with soft eyes and a sad smile. She gave him her legs, once, twice. Her heart was even less of a conscious decision. She just never imagined he would give it back.

Gently, gratefully, he kisses her forehead (so softly that it’s almost like she could have imagined it. She knows she didn’t though. Every touch is precious, now – she wonders if this is the last?) and she screws her eyes shut, because she can’t cry in front of him – it’s not his fault, she knows he doesn’t mean to hurt her. She can’t fault him for not loving her the way she loved him, can’t hold it against him that he wasn’t picturing a future together, not with her.

Later on, a little bit further removed from the situation, he wonders why she took the suggestion so unceremoniously, with a strange expression of _emptiness_ flitting across her features for a half-second, if it was only a friends (read; skating partners, also known as business buddies) with benefits type of situation. He wonders how she was able to invest herself so thoroughly in their pseudo-relationship when she didn’t see it as anything more than two friends having fun, relying on each other for support that they wouldn’t find (or care to seek out), outside their little bubble, one cultivated just for themselves (they both have needs, after all).

He wonders if she knows the reason he had to break it off was because he was so in love with her that getting to be with her and not be her future at the same time was going to tear him apart from the inside.

Pieces of him begin to disappear from her life. His skate bag doesn’t live beside hers anymore, she doesn’t find odd socks of his in her laundry cycles. He’s not there in the morning to kiss her awake and hand her a mug of coffee, isn’t there in the evenings to wind down with while they watch Jeopardy and other reruns with her head tucked into the juncture of his neck. Slowly, piece by piece, the fragments of the future she’d imagined for them begin to fade away out of her reach, to where she can’t hold them all together, not anymore.

She asks him for time over the holidays, asks him for a break, just so they can breathe without each other.

She asks him because she thinks seeing him will shatter her heart all over again. She still hasn’t picked up the pieces of the future she envisioned for them that had been scattered around her living room floor when he told her that he thought that maybe putting an end to their relationship was the best idea for both of them.

Scott thinks she must be so much freer without him by her side, but he still can’t invest himself in any other serious relationship since she stepped out his life in favour of space. He doesn’t wonder why.

* * *

 

It’s the new year when they finally see each other again, and the smell of her fruity shampoo is like a warm hug, comforting and familiar, and reminds him of the hot chocolate at the coldest of rinks from their childhood. There are dark circles under her eyes, less of a happy bounce in her step that used to make her ponytail swing left to right like the way it had throughout the comeback.

She hasn’t lost weight, he thinks, not really, but she seems smaller. More frail. As though someone could brush by her with a little too much force and knock her over.

He’s confused by it all, just a little. She’s not okay. Definitely not very happy.

The first thing to cross his mind is if maybe the holidays were a little too much fun, if she didn’t get to enjoy the downtime and relax, the way he knew she had been planning to – but he doesn’t pry. She would tell him if something was wrong, and she’d tell him on her own terms too.

She doesn’t, is the thing. 

Tessa barely says a word.

And to him, that’s nearly more worrying than her barely there smiles, her limp waves when they part ways at the end of a session with Sam, the way she doesn’t hug him properly, doesn’t thread her fingers through his when her hands get cold on the ice. Even though she had always the more reserved of the pair of them, especially around the media, Tessa was never one to be short of conversation, or witty remarks. It feels strange, foreign, when they both witness something happen, and he can physically _see_ the thought cross her mind, her mouth twitching as though she was about to comment on it to him. And then, nothing. Her features settle back into a calm mask of indifference and she sniffs quickly, a sharp movement that scrunches her nose up. And that’s the tell. (He’d think it was cute, if he didn’t know any better; didn’t know her better than he does himself. But he does know better). He’s seen it much too often when their scores weren’t ones that matched their performance, when her legs would cramp up and the media and all it’s cameras would descend upon her to follow every twitch of muscle, every touch between them.

He texts Jordan, then, asking if Tessa had picked up a bug over the holidays, if maybe she needs a break, if there’s anything he can do to help. She doesn’t reply.

He thinks, that’s probably no big deal. Jordan’s a busy lady, he knows that.

So he reaches out to Kate next, asking the same thing. Kate calls him and it barely lasts a minute. She tells him that if he doesn’t know why her baby girl, her bright spark who’s been so full of happiness, absolutely brimming with it for the past two years – her voice hardens then – if he doesn’t know the reason behind her gloominess, what’s caused her lack of general enthusiasm, then maybe he’s not the Moir boy she thought she knew.

He asks Tessa then, completely dumbfounded. They’re getting a coffee before they have a meeting with producers about the preliminary scheduling for their next tour, and they sit for a moment before they need to leave.

It’s best to start slowly, he thinks, not sure where anything stands, not after Kate and Jordan’s measured responses (or lack of, in Jordan’s case).

Across from her, he’s startled when she nearly bursts into tears after he raises the topic. A voice in his head accompanies the blaring alarm bells that are screaming _TESSA’S CRYING! YOU MADE TESSA CRY! FIX IT!_ – and he feels an awful weight settle in his stomach. Her eyes, usually sparkling with glee or repressed mirth have been dull lately, and now they’re a morose shade of green, glinting with tears in her waterline. Of course she hasn’t done a good job of hiding the mess the breakup had made of her, she thinks – not when he’s so perfectly fine about it all.

His voice just sounds so lost, so worried, concerned when he finally gets to the crux of it, asking, “Tess… what’s got you so _sad,_ kiddo?”

The use of the simple nickname and the softness of his tone almost breaks her heart all over again, and one lone tear breaks away, trailing down her cheek before she hastily wipes it away. She never meant to worry him. She just wishes she could get over him quicker.

Scott watches her take a breath (one he recognises from when they were younger, and she’d steel herself for interviews after they’d skated, when she’d burnt out all her energy on the ice and would get through by virtue of the sheer force of her own iron will), and she meets his eye with a small smile. A sad one, a little bit on the shaky side, but a smile nonetheless.

She tells him she’s sorry, that she knows the breakup was mutual and that she agreed to it, she understands it’s not fair of her to hang onto it for so long. She makes sure to tell him she doesn’t blame him, she’s just taking her time with it all.

He frowns. He didn’t realise she’d been with somebody.

He takes her hand in his, trying to crack a joke, just to make her smile, so that she stops talking about whoever it is that has made her so sad since the last time he saw her.

“Do I need to punch someone? Egg a house, maybe? Just give me a name, Tess, promise. I’ll break a nose,” he tells her earnestly, pressing a kiss to her knuckles (they’re drawn white, clenched tightly together in a tense fist, but he doesn’t notice). She chuckles wetly and squeezes his hand, not sure if she wants him to keep holding hers in his or if it would hurt less should he just let go.

“We both know I love your nose too much for you to break it. Don’t worry about it.” And he doesn’t think he’s understood her properly, not at all.

“My nose?”

There’s a pause.

“What’s my nose got to do with anything?” He’s confused, and she tilts her head, a section of her hair falling off her shoulder.

“Scott, honestly. I promise, I’m fine.” And she breaks out her therapy voice now, “I think that maybe I’m still adjusting to the idea of our future changing, after we broke up. It’s taking me a little longer than you to come to terms with it, I think.”

He’s silent for a minute, and it scares her. He’s always been the one to react, speak first and then, think later.

“… Our breakup, Tess?” There’s another pause.

She nods.

“When … when were we together?” She blanches, her stomach doing an alarming loop. But he’s still talking, and she can’t find her voice to cut him off, to make him stop.

“I mean, I know we were fooling around a lot, but T, I never… I thought you didn’t want … _that …_ ” he stresses, emphatically. “A relationship. A real one, with me.”

Tessa’s biting her lip now, tugging on a piece of broken skin and looking anywhere but him.

“I had our future planned, you know? You were going to propose next year, and I was going to say yes, and we were going to get a dog, and then have two kids, and you’d get to coach, and I’d be able to work on my masters and then join you in the rink on the side for choreo, and I was thinking about how we were going to spend this Christmas together, you know? Not just with our families, but _together_ together. And how in a few years we’d be bringing our own children with us, and we’d both be wearing rings and it’s just … hard, I guess. Adjusting to the idea of that not existing anymore.”

“Tess…” he starts, but his voice breaks. “Tess, look at me.”

She does, barely meeting his eyes, her green ones sparkling with wet tears. “I’m sorry, I know we’re over. It’s been weeks, I don’t know why I’m still upset about it. I promise it’s fine. It is.”

And that hits him like a cruel jolt to his nervous system. He feels as though he’s just been run over by a truck and told the sky isn’t actually blue, grass isn’t really green and Tessa’s favourite food isn’t chocolate. His reality isn’t really making sense. All that time they’d spent together, waking up sleepily beside each other, leaning on each other for support, she thought of them as a couple. She’d pictured their future and their _kids,_ hell, she had probably already mentally chosen the furniture and themes for their nursery – and he’d gone and broken her heart in an attempt to save his own (which didn’t necessarily work, but that’s not relevant).

He can hear himself telling her he’s so sorry as he leads her out of the coffee shop to where she won’t feel so surrounded by other people. He sets both of their drinks down on a bench before bundling her into a hug. He can feel her shoulders shaking with repressed tears and he kisses her hair. It’s bitingly cold out, and he holds her tighter. He can feel the moment her breathing starts to match his own, can pinpoint it as easily as he can the freckles across her shoulders.

He tells her that he wanted that, too. He tells her how much he loves her. Tells her how sorry he is that she’s hurting. And that it’s all his fault.

She shrugs, then, breaking out of his hold and wiping a cathartic tear away. She tells him it’s okay.

And that breaks him more than anything, because it’s not okay. Tessa hurting is never okay.

He tells her he’s sorry (again), that he thought she didn’t want to be with him. That he thought she didn’t think of him as her forever, so he had to ask her if they could stop, if only to save what remained of his own heart (a foolish move, really, when she already held his entire heart in both hands).

* * *

 

Later on, he won’t remember much of what happened after that. He sometimes wishes that he could recall their conversation with more clarity, but if he’s being honest, some things are better left the way they were.

What he does remember is;

He remembers her eyes looking up to meet his outside the little coffee shop, soft now, tears still clinging to her lashes and a careful curiosity written across her features.

He remembers how his hands shook when he tried to explain the _why_ of it all. He remembers the soft little, “oh,” that had fallen out of her mouth when he explained (messily, and with a helping of too many hand gestures that probably did less to express what he meant than the words he used), how he had felt when he asked her to stop. Stop whatever it was they were to each other.

He remembers the way her cheeks, already rosy and pink from the cold, coloured a much deeper shade of red when she learned he had thought she had just wanted sex from him, for lack of a better explanation.

He remembers the bright laugh of pure happiness that spilled out of her when he realises he’d been an idiot, and still regrets that his head had fallen into his hands by then, so he had missed the expression on her face when _she_ had realised he had been an idiot.

 But that’s okay.

 Because now, four years removed from the time, he gets to experience every new expression that crosses her features. Is the first one to know how bright her grin is when she learns she’s pregnant for the first time. Will always treasure the way her eyes shone with the happiest of unshed tears on her wedding day, and thanks his lucky stars (once again) that he was the one to elicit the same kind of laugh-cry he thought only existed in the cool air of competitive arenas when he slides the ring onto her finger.

 

So really, the fact that he doesn’t necessarily remember that conversation on a _freezing_ Montréal morning isn’t so bad. He’s got the rest of his life to make up for it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> constructive criticism is definitely welcome, comments & kudos would also make my day x
> 
> title is from believer, by imagine dragons


End file.
